


Wolf In This Place

by RaisonDetre



Series: R E D // Emperor|Empress AU [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dark!Kylo, Dubious pregnancy, Emperor Kylo, F/M, Forced Marriage, Is Kylo a redeeming character? Eh, Kylo is emperor of everything?, Kylo is honestly a dick, Kylo slaps Rey and it's sorta the entire timeline for this series, Light!Rey, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, No Snoke bc I don't like him, Sick Bay, They sort of loved each other but then Kylo fucked it up, Three years in, Unhealthy Relationships, empress!rey, hey! They are both lowkey codependent on one another and it's unhealthy, the answer is no probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 01:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13447920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisonDetre/pseuds/RaisonDetre
Summary: “The medic says you’re not feeling well,” a hand comes to curl around her face, and for a moment she mistakes the warmth for tiny pin-prick thistles in his skin.





	Wolf In This Place

**Author's Note:**

> Beware, abusive themes, misuse of power, dubious pregnancy, The Darkest of Kylos. 
> 
> Also, enjoy. I like thinking of them both as absolute goods and absolute bads. This series will time hop and break down both of them as people. 
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! So are kudos! <3

The sick bay smelled of antiseptic soaps and sterilizers. Unlike most of everything on the ship, the department was flushed in color, of harsh whites and soothing navy blues. Instead of thick, metal walls, each room stood divided by sheets of glass. 

There was nowhere to hide in the sick bay, even if she wanted to. 

Rey sat on the soft cushions of the bed, only uncomfortable because of the sterilized paper placed between her skin and the leather of her seat. It crunched every time she moved, which was often, due to her nervous fidgeting. The noise echoed in the room, alone, aside for her own breathing. 

Her chest beat frantically, knowing the reason why the doctor fled so quickly from her presence. 

Because, who or what could be more important than Empress Ren’s immediate health?

She knew before she had to think about it. She knew he must’ve requested to be told any adverse news before her, that if he felt it too harsh, then he would simply order her the best treatment with no reason given. 

He was scared to frighten his consort. Especially of the mortality of life. Of her life, regardless of how strong he is or how much of the galaxy he reigns upon. 

It was Kylo Ren’s only weakness. Something he can’t control. The only thing he can’t control. 

She’ll admit, she likes having that power over him, in a horribly, messed up, very bad way. She could hurt herself, and his entire world would tilt, would burn, would be shaking with helplessness and nearly childish anger directed at anything capable of hurting her. 

She watched as the emperor stood few meters away from her, but his presence was separated by glass, cutting off his voice. She didn’t need dialogue to see the tension between his incredibly broad shoulders. 

Rey had been in and out of the sick bay for weeks now. High fevers, fainting, an insane amount of vomiting, never feeling just quite right. Kylo hardly allowed her to leave his presence, but lately, she had been a prisoner to the medics. The days passing by how well she felt. 

Kylo says something, moves a hand through his hair, turns to take a hesitant glance at his bride. 

Hesitance is never good in Kylo. It’s the tiny, fleeting moment when he makes bad decisions and acknowledges its darkness. When he allows himself to have a conscious for half a second before he throws it out. 

Hesitance is when hurt comes. Maybe not always to her. Sometimes, to those around her or to complete strangers or to entire cities. 

Kylo speaks another word, before he finishes and dismisses the medic with a wave of his hand. Her doctor stares at her with pity before nodding and retreating, calling upon two other on-staff nurses. 

She feels her palms begin to sweat. She doesn’t want to do anything. She refuses to do anything. 

The emperor stands now, in the room, before her in his long black robes. He always looked like this. Like a dark mass. The crimson silk beneath his capes the only sign of color, but it was there to help blend in the blood, to remind Rey that beneath his clean nails was the stain of death and rot of tyranny. 

“My princess,” he speaks, deep voice louder than the paper she shifts on, trying to get further from him, like a frantic, frightened child. 

Sometimes, Kylo is as gentle and kind as he can be with Rey. With anyone. Other times, he’s cruel and mean and doesn’t stop until she leaves the room crying. And if it’s a room he keeps her in, trapped like a caged animal, she flees to the nearest corner and covers her ears and screams. 

Sometimes, she wants to be back on Jakku. She wants to scavenge for metal, to climb and dangle on wrecked ships, to only see the today and never think about the tomorrow, because on Jakku—that could change. She could find a functional mainframe of a ship, she could uproot it, repair it, and sell it for more than just weekly rations, but tangible money. She could have invested. Could have become a farmer. Could have become more than this—more than a murderous emperor’s captive wife. 

Kylo takes up the entire room. Kylo takes up everything, like the room in her chest and thoughts in her brain. 

“The med says you’re not feeling well,” a hand comes to curl around her face, and for a moment she mistakes the warmth for tiny pin-prick thistles in his skin. 

“I—I feel fine, Kylo,” she lies to him, knows that he sees the dishonesty reflect in her hazel eyes, sees himself there, staring at her with something that mocks empathy. 

“I don’t like you like this,” the emperor admits, only openly to her. But everyone knows. Recognizes the obvious contrast in Kylo, when he’s more than just detached and living numbly, coming alive when the handful of an empress stands beside him. 

“What is this,” Rey asks, wanting the truth, desperate to know what ate her alive. Was it Rackfever? Deathseed? 

Kylo stares at her and for a moment, breaks it to glance at her abdomen. 

He doesn’t need to say anything. Doesn’t have to tell her any more. 

“No,” she whispered, because she feared that more than anything. She took precautions. Even on Jakku, she never allowed herself to fall behind on shots, regardless of how they cost her nearly two weeks of rations. 

“I want it out,” she hisses, eyes beginning to water from the fierce betrayal. Nothing happened to Rey that Kylo didn’t want to happen. “You— I will never forgive you, I will never forgive you if I have to—if this thing is… is created, Kylo.” 

“Rey,” he speaks, almost kindly, like she’s somehow suddenly delicate, made of paper, soft to touch, reduced to a feeble statue of ash ready to be blown away. 

“I hate you,” she whispers, tears beginning to fall freely, knowing this was always inevitable. But not now. Not yet. Couldn’t she have had time to think about this? To know about it? To come to terms? To live just a little longer without this burden heavy on her trembling shoulders? 

“I hate you, Kylo!” She regrets everything. Regrets ever meeting him, ever falling into his graces, ever allowing herself to marry him instead of killing herself, ever allowing him inside her body and into her thoughts and near her and on the same bed and in their shared chambers and—

“Enough!” Kylo hisses, and she feels it. Feels him in her head. Feels him in a place she can’t push him out of. Knows her true hatred is burning into him like searing hot brands in his own mind. 

“Get out!” She screams, not caring that her voice carries high enough for every member of staff in the sick bay to stare at them. “Get out of my head! And get out of this room, and get—get this out!”

“Rey—“ He never lets her scream. Never lets her cause a scene, at least not in public. But, now, she’s untouchable. She’s holding something precious inside of her that’s his. Something that can’t be folded and bent into whatever shape Kylo prefers at that particular second. It can’t bounce back, not like Rey can. 

“If you don’t get these doctors to do it, Ren, I swear it. I swear I will do it myself,” she promises darkly, feeling it heavy in her stomach, like rocks have been placed inside of her as she slept and her skin had been sewn up seamlessly.   
“You will do no such thing, princess,” he declares, his eyes a dangerous gold, an inhuman color, proving there is nothing of him left that she can save. 

She stares at him, wondering how she could possibly convince him of the choices, of any other choice than allowing her to carry through with this. “I don’t understand Kylo,” she whispers, and in a way, it’s honest. “I gave you myself. You had everything you wanted. Why isn’t it enough? For now, Kylo? Why can’t it just be you and I? Do you want something between us?”

Kylo sees through her tactics, his lips turning into a sneer as he takes a step backwards, disgust evident on his face, as if she were the murder. “For someone with an unbearable amount of light, Rey, you would rather kill our unborn child than allow it to live?” 

His words make her fist clench at the acknowledgement. He says it like a triumph, like a victory, like a trophy.

“You don’t understand it, Kylo,” Rey whispers through gritted teeth. She would do this in any other situation. If Kylo wasn’t who he was. If she wasn’t trapped on some ship, forced to follow him as he left rivers of blood in his wake. 

She speaks her next words carefully, hoping he feels the burn of them long after they both leave the med bay. “I would rather kill myself and this,” Rey’s hands move to her stomach, still flat with no obvious sign of life. “Instead of ever giving you a child you would turn into a weapon,” each word drips in venom, pushed out between a sneer which contorted her entire face. 

Silence settles over them, until it is suddenly taken away.

The slap is hot and fresh and sizzling on her skin. It’s unexpected. It takes her breath away. Takes her back. Furthers her point. 

Aside for their sparring matches, Kylo never touched her like this. With so much intention to truly hurt her. He never hit her. Only bruised her with misplaced words.

He regrets it the moment it happens. He draws back his hand like she burned him. 

“Rey, I—“ he begins, attempts, freezing as she flinches away from him, watching his hands as they fall back to his side, clenched out of anger directed at himself. 

“You’re a monster,” she whispers between stubborn tears running down her face, hissing on the hot, raised skin of her freckled cheek. 

Rey refuses to say anything more, instead, she simply pushes past him and runs out of the med bay with quivering shoulders. Whatever they had between them before this morning, a tender, scared affair, where Kylo patiently pulled her out and assured he would be as close to gentle as he could be, was gone. 

Three years of patient care, of well-placed words, of the perfect tone, of delicate touches, buried beneath his tangible rage. 

He stares at her retreating figure. Staying perfectly still until his empress runs out of sight. He only moves to hit the glass paneled wall. Kylo refuses to stop until it’s shattered beneath his feet. 

With his chest heaving and his fist embedded with shards of glass, he steps out of the sick bay while medics stare over datapads in shock.


End file.
